Words can wait
by LadyKappa
Summary: Penelope Garcia wakes up in a strange room, and soon realises that last night's events may have irreparably damaged her most precious friendship. Morgan/Garcia schmoop, oneshot.


She's not sure where the sounds are coming from, but they're making her uneasy. She shuffles in her sleep, and as she tries to change sides she bumps into something—_someone_. Her eyes fly open.

Derek.

Derek Morgan, in her bed. No, wait, this isn't her room. It's his. Penelope Garcia is in Derek Morgan's bed. And they're both naked.

_Shit._

It all comes back to her, the distant sounds from her dreams replaced by the silence of the room and the crickets outside. She glances at the digital clock on Derek's bedside table; almost 6am. They'll be getting up to go to work soon, it's Monday morning.

_Shit, shit, shit. Where are my clothes?_

Her clothes are everywhere. On the floor, next to the bed, in the hall just outside, in the living room. She can't bear to look at them right now. She feels too self-conscious to walk over and pick them up and put them on; this is too much of a reminder of last night and of what will follow when he wakes up. No, no clothes. She finally gets why people in movies only wear sheets when they get out of bed as she slides the bedsheet quietly off of Derek's beautiful body and wraps her own blemished one. With careful, slow footsteps, she walks to the window and looks outside.

The view from here is very different to the one from her own apartment. She can see the city from here, and look down on the street lights and the first morning traffic making its way in and out of the financial district.

She remembers everything: how Derek asked her to dinner, and she said yes because she always does; how they didn't go to any of their usual exotic spots, no Mexican or Thai or sushi—he took her to a French place, with candles at the table and wine instead of beer or tequila; how he smiled at her, sipping his wine and listening to her laugh about stupid work things; how he asked her to his place afterwards, and she said yes, without thinking, and when they got here they started kissing and one thing led to another.

And now, at 6am on a Monday morning, she finds herself wearing nothing but a sheet in Derek Morgan's room, and all she can do is cry.

She's wanted this forever. She's daydreamed about him so much that she was content with just that, her mind's images instead of the real thing. And now, now that she's had the real thing—the beautiful, glorious, sweet thing still snoring in the double bed behind her—now she's afraid. He will wake up soon and it'll all be over. He will take one look at her and say "shit" and realise what they've done, and for a while they won't speak, and she will never be his baby girl again.

She hears him shift on the bed, and turns around to look at him.

His eyes are languidly opening up, taking in the first sunlight from the window and her figure standing against it, wrapped in a sheet. _No wonder it's so cold_, he thinks. He smiles at her.

"Hey, baby girl."

Penelope feels the tears stream down her face and she can't stop them. She turns away towards the city and wants to sob loudly, but she stifles her breath and her shoulders shake instead.

Derek notices, and his smile is clouded. He picks up his boxers from the floor and slips them on in one swift motion, then hurries to the window where Penelope is still shaking, her face buried in her hand, the other one holding the sheet up over her breast with knuckles so white he can see the veins under her skin.

"Baby girl," he says, putting one hand around her shoulders and reaching out with the other to uncover her face, "what's wrong?"

She looks up, and her face is beautiful and terrible at once, with so much relief and sadness in one look, and the tears drying in streaks down her cheeks.

"We're over," she whispers, "aren't we? Our friendship?"

Derek smiles and wipes her cheek clean with his thumb, his right hand squeezing instinctively around her shoulder. "What makes you think that?" he says with a sweet smile. He looks right into her eyes and Penelope realises that he isn't flinching, he doesn't look sorry. She feels his arm pull her closer to him and his warm hand on her face where he's caressing her cheek and brushing the hair from her face.

"You don't..." she pauses, and looks down before she finishes her sentence, "...regret this?"

Derek frowns, and his hand freezes on her forehead. "You think I would ever regret this?"

For a minute they're both still, and when Penelope looks back up at him Derek is looking at her with the most serious expression she's ever seen on his face.

"Baby girl, you listen to me. What happened last night was me showing you how I truly feel about you. I would never regret doing that."

Penelope sniffs, and a small hiccup is caught at her throat. Derek's arm is pulling her even closer now, and she can feel his body heat through the sheet wrapped around her.

"So you've... wanted this?"

"For longer than you can imagine, Penelope." Her name is like music as it rolls off his tongue, and she can feel her eyes drying now, the tears stopped. Her fist clutches around the sheet a little tighter.

"I... me too. I, I think I'm—"

"Shhhh," he whispers, "don't say it."

He wraps his arms around her and they stay like that for a while, until he can feel the sun on his back and Penelope's breathing even and calm against his neck, her hand resting on his hip softly.

"Those words can wait," he finally says, his thumb absently caressing her back. She pulls away slightly and looks up at his smiling face just as he says "I'm so glad you're here, Penelope Garcia".

She feels her worries melt away as a smile takes over her face. "So am I," she says, and closes her eyes as he leans in for a kiss.


End file.
